


Interlude XI

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [100]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Heaven, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:58:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Jack the Ripper – Sherlock's part in his downfall. And just when things could not be worse, someone goes missing upstairs....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessgolux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessgolux/gifts).



_[Begin narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes]_

In selecting those of my cases that he thought appropriate to lay before his increasingly demanding public (some of whose letters made me fear for their writer's sanity!), John always followed certain rules. And one such, although he never said it, was that he did not cover my mercifully small number of failures. This, the most infamous case that I was only tangentially involved in, was one I regarded as such, even though I did identify the killer, and it actually led to Words between us. It was doubly ironic that this was the last case before the name 'Moriarty' would appear in our lives, and come close to destroying both of us.

+~+~+

The latter half of 'Eighty-Eight was a difficult one for me, as I had a run of three cases before this 'non-case' that taxed my abilities to the limit. First, of course, was the encounter with Mr. Jimmy Collins in the Broken Batman case, a matter made worse by the fact that I felt unable to share the load with John for once. I knew that, despite how often his own talents were mocked by far too many people, he knew full well that I was keeping something from him, and the respect he showed in accepting that made me love him even more, if that were possible. 

I was still dealing with the aftermath of this case when, on the last day of August, I read of the brutal killing of one Mary Ann Nicholls. In a city of over a million people, such a thing was bound to happen far too often, and although this particular attack had been brutal, I paid it as little heed as the newspapers, who reported that the victim had been both a prostitute and an alcoholic. 

Early September brought the second difficult case for me, that of my former love Lady Dundas and the 'divorce' that she was seeking from her husband. The support that I received from John over that – it nearly broke me. I was far too undeserving of such love, although I grasped at it greedily. It was during this case that there was a second brutal East End killing, that of Annie Chapman some eight days after the first attack. That too garnered little attention from the press, again most probably because the victim's background was similar to that of the earlier one. The only thing that I do recall from the time was the surprising thoughtfulness of our friend Henriksen, who later told me that some in the force thought that they should consult me at this point, but he had demurred, knowing that I was under severe strain with the Dundas Case. My regard for the affable policeman only increased after that, and I was fortunate that I was able to repay his great kindness later on in my life.

Three weeks passed, and the Dundas Case was mercifully concluded, although with a final shock over my poor son George. Then, after my thirty-fourth birthday, the Etherege Case immediately demanded my attention. On the last day of that month, the East End killer struck again – twice, this time. His victims were again women who had slipped to the bottom of society, partly through circumstance and partly through flaws in their own characters, Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes. Henriksen appeared at our apartments the very next day, and apologetically asked if I would indeed look into matters - he had been ordered so to do by Someone Very High-Up, I later discovered - to which I agreed.

My investigations were interrupted, of course, by the dramatic conclusion to the Etherege Case, and my subsequent recovery from that vile woman's attempt to kill me. I owed John my life, for his fast reactions had deflected the fatal bullet just enough. It took some time for me to recover – I found it amusing that John was always a complete mother-hen at times like these, although I do know (because he told me several times, the bastard!) that I made a terrible patient. Finally, one Friday in early November - Guy Fawkes' Night, as it happened - I asked Henriksen to come round and gave him a name, which I regret that I cannot state here. I shall however state that rumours linking the name of Prince Albert Victor (the Prince of Wales' eldest son, and then second-in-line to the Empire's throne) to the crimes were totally and vilely wrong. 

Unfortunately, politics is a dirty game. The reader will remember my efforts secured Henriksen's recent promotion at the expense of the son of Chief-Inspector Vincent Cable. That 'public servant' now retaliated spitefully, using his position on the Police Board to pressure those in charge to ignore Henriksen's name, stating that to accuse that person was madness itself. The dire consequence was that, four days after my meeting with Henriksen, there was a fifth victim of the now infamous 'Jack The Ripper', Mary Jane Kelly. My policeman friend assured me the next day that the named man had been quietly secured, and the attacks duly stopped, but the whole matter depressed me, as I felt that I had failed. I remember that John got quite angry with me, telling me in no uncertain terms that this was a police failing, and that I was not to blame. He was wonderful when roused, and although I tried to argue back, he would have none of it. I had to accept his decision, and that was that.

I loved him so much!

John even offered to sleep on the couch in my bedroom rather than with me, in case he inadvertently injured my still recovering form during the night. But I would have none of that; I wanted this man beside me, and I knew that I felt just wrong when he was not there, day or night. And when he staggered out of bed to go and spend a few minutes in his own bed every morning – one had to keep up appearances for the maids – I felt cheated. Still, given the dark times that I had come through of late, I should have been thanking God for having what I had with John. I was truly content. And if perhaps, just occasionally, I heard a small voice at the back of my mind whispering about a certain river in Egypt, I ignored it.

Perhaps more than just occasionally.

_[End narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes]_


	2. Chapter 2

“You replaced his bag of barley-sugar again?” God sighed.

“He will just think his man did it”, His wife said defensively. “And after all that poor boy has been through of late, he needs looking after. My sweet little angel!”

“I can't help feel but this is all going too well”, God frowned.

“My darlingest cutie-pie was almost killed?” She snapped. “ _Too well_?”

“Relatively speaking”, He said. “You know what they say about narrative causality. Now that Sherlock Holmes is real, there is every likelihood that some or all of the other characters in those books will....”

They both looked up sharply as a faint but horrible noise came from somewhere nearby. It was the unpleasant sound of reality doing something that it was most definitely not supposed to. God's eyes narrowed, and He summoned His secretary with a thought.

Nothing happened. After far too many milliseconds, a short dark-winged angel appeared before Him.

“Inias?” God asked, confused. “Where is Metatron?”

The dark-winged angel looked worriedly at them both.

“He has disappeared, My Lord, My Lady”, the angel said, bowing. “And, uh, someone has been using time-runes in the office.”

Few things could make God worry, but that just happened to be one of them. His secretary had of course known about the redrawn timeline – keeping anything a secret around here was a lost cause, even to a supreme being – but evidently Metatron had decided to take a more direct role in the new sequence of events. Metatron... Moriarty....

“Oh flip!” God said forcibly.


End file.
